As promised, Harry met Professor Snape in his dungeon classroom at eight o'clock the following night. His feet shuffled into the room, wanting to take him almost anywhere else, even off to the library to do homework. How did Snape expect him to get all his Potions homework done with all this extra training? Then again, how did the Potions Master manage to get his papers graded with so little free time?

This time, instead of preparing potions or marking papers, Snape had been overtly awaiting his arrival, leaning against his desk, arms crossed in typical fashion. “You're on time,” he observed in a sardonic tone. Harry was forced to bite back a sharp retort. He made it sound like an insult! Would the professor have been happier if he'd been late? Then again… maybe Snape would have appreciated an excuse to postpone their little rendezvous, if even for a few extra minutes. And of course there would be the added pleasure of taking points from Gryffindor.

Harry nervously pulled out a stool and sat down behind one of the desks, preferring to have the small barrier before him and the creepy Potions Master. He licked his lips nervously. “What will we be studying tonight?” he said in a voice that was almost steady.

Without removing his burning gaze from the boy, Snape reached behind him and drew forth a large golden cup filled with a viscous black fluid. “Today, Potter,” he said in a languid tone, “we will study pain.”

“Pain?!” Harry could not keep the shock and fright out of his voice.

“That is correct.” Snape's expression was stony. “The Death Eaters are masters at administering pain. Some view it as an amusing pastime, others as a work of art. If you want to survive another encounter with them, it's time we built up your resistance.”

Harry shuddered visibly. He had felt pain of varying degrees, from a broken arm to the Cruciatus Curse itself, and the more he had felt, the less he ever wanted to feel. Amazing how much agony the human body could feel…. He looked up, realizing that Snape was watching his reaction very closely. “Is—is this really necessary?” he stammered. “I mean… there's no way out of feeling the pain, is there? What good would it do to study it?”

The black-clad professor sneered at him. “Foolish Gryffindor. Your house may be vaunted for its bravery, but that alone will not save you from torture. Listen very carefully, for I will not repeat this.” Snape leaned forward, and Harry became perfectly still, realizing that something crucial was at stake. “It is true that there is no escaping the pain. The trick is to function despite it, to shove it down into an isolated part of yourself and manage it, control it. In this lies your best hope for survival.”

The boy found himself becoming hypnotized by Snape's voice and the intense look in his eyes. He found himself nodding, understanding beginning to dawn. He spoke hesitantly, not liking the taste of the words as they left his mouth. “When Voldemort hit me with the Cruciatus Curse, I was helpless. It was the most awful pain I have ever known, and if he had then used the Killing Curse on me I would have been very grateful. Even if I had not been tied up, I would not have been able to act.”

Snape's expression flickered slightly at Potter's mention of the agonizing curse that was put upon him. Harry set his jaw. 'Didn't think I had experienced that kind of pain, did you?' he mocked silently. He blinked in surprise when the Potions Master passed him the goblet.

The professor's eyes were cold once more as he icily beheld his student eyeing the potion warily. “I'm so relieved you finally see the point of this exercise,” he said sarcastically. “Of course, to properly master pain one must experience it. The mixture you hold in your hands is most commonly known as the Agony Serum. Not a very inventive name, although it is a very apt one. The duration of its effects can be modified. I have adjusted this particular brew to last for approximately two minutes.”

Potter stared at the potion in abject horror. “You really expect me to drink this?!!” Merlin, but Snape truly was a sadist! He suddenly quailed, allowing nerves to take over. How could Dumbledore have possibly entrusted his safety to such a monstrous person?

Snape's expression was carefully neutral. “It is your choice, after all, Potter. But consider what it is that I am offering you. The mixture will cause you considerable pain, true, but it will help fortify you for the future. Best to explore your tolerance in a controlled, safe atmosphere than to learn about it at the mercy of Voldemort's followers. You Gryffindors are always posturing about bravery – find it within yourself and use it!”

Gulping, forcing himself not to think, Harry grasped the goblet and drained its contents swiftly. He had expected its contents to be acrid, but the liquid was cool as it spread down into his stomach. He scarcely noticed as Snape turned and produced his wand, uttering a silencing charm on the room. For a moment there was a blessed feeling of numbness – then it was overwhelmed in a fireball of pain. He doubled over, the goblet falling from his nerveless fingers as he let out a shrill scream. Tendrils of pain shot out from his abdomen, radiating through his limbs, licking at his fingers and toes, threatening to eat him alive. Tears squeezed out of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks, bringing with them a stinging shame. An agonized moan tore from his throat. How could he possibly hope to master this awful sensation? He was drowning, suffocating in it!

His hands twisted on his thighs, bunching the material of his trousers in his sweaty fists, seeking to exorcise the terrible pain, his mouth twisted in a grimace. Slim yet strong hands closed over his own, squeezing with surprising strength. “Focus!” a voice hissed harshly. “Control the pain! Gather it into a ball and use it, channel it! You are stronger than it!” Harry opened his eyes and raised his head, locking gazes with Snape. Glazed green eyes met smoldering black, and as Harry stared into the depths of Snape's eyes, mesmerized, he felt the pain begin to subside. Realization dawning, he struggled to manage the pain, to gather it deeper inside himself, trying to shut it away as his body trembled violently under the strain. The pain became distant, almost unimportant, and his mind began to clear. The Potions Master watched him carefully, noting the control as it was asserted, and Harry's hands began to relax their fierce grip on his thighs. His breathing became less labored, and the tension eased out of his body. The two minutes had passed. He had done it.

The hands that were clutching the boy's were removed, and Snape leaned back, the accustomed scowl returning to his features. “A minimal attempt at self-control,” he growled, but the cross words made Harry feel somewhat lighter. Coming from the taciturn professor, it was practically a glowing compliment. “I think I could manage to better control my pain next time,” he said a bit breathlessly. He was still rather winded from the experience.

“Unfortunately, that kind of control comes only with experience,” Snape said flatly. “It is possible to build up a small measure of tolerance to the Cruciatus Curse, but never to fully resist it. It is in your best interest to either avoid that curse whenever possible.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could bite them back. “Have you ever experienced the Cruciatus Curse?” 'Stupid, stupid!' he cursed mentally, seeing the professor stiffen. 'He will be furious with you now!'

To his astonishment, Snape turned his head to intently study the top of his desk. “More times than I care to remember.” His head jerked up and he fixed Potter with a lethal glare, causing the student to shrink back in his seat. He was clearly furious with himself for revealing so much.

Harry stammered under the weight of that stare. “I—is it really possible to master pain? To put it to use, as you said?”

“With a bit of training, yes, it is possible.” Snape bent and retrieved the goblet, heading over to a cauldron sitting docilely on a table off to the side. He sighed in irritation. “Since it is so difficult to convince you, it seems that a practical demonstration is in order. I have just enough for a second dose.” He grumbled under his breath, yet loud enough for Harry to hear, “Albus, you don't know what you ask of me.” He ladled the remnants of the concoction into the goblet, and Harry could not help but notice that the dosage was actually greater than what he himself had been offered. With a sarcastic semblance of a smile, the Potions Master tipped the glass at him in a perverse salute and neatly swallowed its contents.

Harry watched in morbid fascination as Snape spluttered slightly, clutching his stomach and nearly dropping the goblet, finally setting it down on the desk with an unsteady hand. He saw the pale jaw clamp down, the ebony eyes fix in a determined stare, the long fingers curl into fists. There was a barely audible hiss of pain, then the pallid man forcibly pushed himself away from the desk and began to wander about the classroom, straightening the desks and rearranging his potions stock. His discomfort was betrayed only by the tremble in his hands, the clenched jaw, and the slightly uneven gait that made his usual swoop-and-stalk a bit less intimidating.

At last the slender man breathed a soft sigh of relief and straightened, the potion having finished its work. He made his way to the desk and pulled the chair around to sit in front of Harry. The boy gaped at him unabashedly, awed at what he had just seen. He had *felt* the blazing agony that the concoction had sent through him, yet Snape had barely given a sign of discomfort. “That was brilliant!” he breathed.

Snape allowed a smirk to cross his features, the closest he would ever get to a smile. “It *is* possible to function while experiencing a great deal of pain. This is the advantage you will have over the Death Eaters. They expect their victims to crack and surrender to them. If you manage to keep your wits about you, you will most likely come out on top.”

“You make it look so easy.”

The man grimaced slightly, looking down at his slender hands. “I've had a lot of experience. I sincerely hope this is one lesson you will never need to use.” When he lifted his head, the stern Potion Master persona had returned. “We will return to this lesson at a future date. There is another matter I would like to cover: survival in a hostile environment.” Harry sat back in his chair, scowling slightly. This was going to be a Potions lesson, he just knew it. For the remaining time, Snape fired out random questions, such as “Which herb is beneficial for blood clotting and can be found in many forests?” Harry was forced to scour his memory, only half-paying attention to Snape's action as the professor lined up five cauldrons and began to concoct different potions. It wasn't until they had begun to bubble and froth that he bothered to pay attention to the ingredients that still lay out. It was obvious from one glance that nothing on the table could be purchased at Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. It was far more likely that they had been procured from the creepy Knockturn Alley….

“Potter! Are you listening?!”

The irritable voice broke through his stupor, and he looked up to see Snape glowering at him. The professor followed his gaze to the dark potions brewing. “Those… those aren't for…”

Snape gave him a sneer. “They certainly aren't for the infirmary, nor will you find the recipes in any book that is not in the restricted section. I've been… requested… to produce them. They do take quite a bit of time, so I hope your *delicate sensibilities*” -- he fairly snarled the words -- “are not offended if I begin now.”

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “I take it that Dumbledore was not the one to request this of you.” He was fervently glad that he did not recognize any of the foul substances before him. He was sure that they served no good purpose.

A short, derisive bark of laughter was his answer. “Hardly.”

Harry glanced down at his wrist at his magic-powered wristwatch. He could hardly believe that the hour had passed so swiftly. “You're dismissed.” Snape did not even look up from his cauldrons.

“See you tomorrow,” he tossed over his shoulder as he prepared to close the door behind him.

“No, you won't,” the Potions Master corrected. “I have an appointment that it is imperative to keep.” Harry noticed the man's gaze flicker to the cauldrons, and his blood ran cold. The Death Eaters. “And seeing as the weekend comes next, I will next see you on Monday.”

“Okay. Monday it is, then.” Just before he closed the door, he added swiftly, “Good luck.” Then the door slammed and there was the sound of scampering feet fleeing the dungeons. Severus shook his head, looking at the closed door with something bordering on amusement. The lad had actually wished him well.